


Wanting and Unfeeling

by unknownlifeform



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic, Aromantic Aredhel (Tolkien), Bisexual Aredhel (Tolkien), F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, No Romance, Sexual Content, Time Skips, alloaro rights, it is aromantic awareness week be aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknownlifeform/pseuds/unknownlifeform
Summary: Moments of Aredhel's life as an aromantic, bisexual Elf, navigating an excessively romantic society(Good Aromantic Awareness Week everyone)
Relationships: Aredhel & Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Aredhel & Maeglin | Lómion, Aredhel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Aredhel (Tolkien)/Original Male Character(s), Aredhel/Eöl (Tolkien)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	Wanting and Unfeeling

**Author's Note:**

> None of you have any idea how long I've been working on this holy shit-
> 
> Anyways it is my sexuality and I get to choose who to project it on! Also featuring dashes of:  
> \- genderfluid Fingon  
> \- aroace Turgon  
> \- polyamorous Finrod  
> For reference, in this setting Valinor is overall accepting of the existence of trans people, but there is some discrimination against (cis) couples of the same gender. And a whole lot of amatonormativity. If you don't think you can deal with that, this may not be the story for you. Otherwise, please enjoy!
> 
> What else... yeah do you have any idea how hard it is to write about someone being horny without using the word fuck even once?

If Irissë were to be asked about the first time she had truly felt attracted to someone, she would think of a warm day in Valinor, when she had went with some friends to ride in the woods surrounding Tirion. There was sweat clinging to her brow, she had scratched her arm against a tree branch, and she was laughing as she raced against the others.

Her brothers and cousins weren’t with her. Some of her companions were friends, and others were friends of friends. A dozen of them, having mindless fun.

They dismounted from their horses when the animals started to grow tired, deciding to give them a rest before they turned back home.

“It has been a nice ride, don’t you think my lady?” said the boy next to her. His name was Tuvindo, and Irissë didn’t know him all that well. He was a little older than her, almost an adult by law. He grinned in a way that always promised mischief. He was known to be somewhat of a scoundrel, the kind that would make Irissë’s parents frown in disapproval.

Irissë liked scoundrels. A mutual friend had introduced them, and so far she had found she quite liked his company.

“It was,” she said, “if only the heat wasn’t so oppressive today.”

“I can agree with that,” he replied. Sweat was making locks of his hair stick to his face. “If you don’t mind, my lady.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he grabbed the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head and slipping it off. Someone else laughed at him, but followed his example, getting rid of their shirts to get some respite.

Irissë found her gaze lingering on Tuvindo. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen someone else’s bare chest before. Yet she felt unusually captivated. Tuvindo’s skin was golden, beads of sweat clinging to it. His muscles were lithe and well defined, and Irissë found herself thinking that she would want to run her fingers on them.

“My lady?”

Irissë quickly tore her eyes away. She didn’t know why she had been staring. It seemed somehow inappropriate. As if she had looked at something she shouldn’t have, which was ridiculous, because if Tuvindo hadn’t wanted her to see him he would not have taken his clothes off.

The heat on her cheeks seemed somehow different from before. It had traveled down her spine in an unfamiliar way.

Rationally, Irissë knew that sweat was dirty. Normally, she thought touching someone who was covered in it was quite gross. Yet somehow the sheen that had covered Tuvindo’s chest had made him look all the more alluring.

Irissë wasn’t usually ashamed of taking off her own clothes in front of others. Yet, for some reason, she decided not to shed any of hers. There was some voice in the back of her head that told her undressing wouldn’t have made her feel cooler.

As they rode back home, she struggled to look at Tuvindo in the eyes again.

His memory came back to her mind later, while she bathed. Despite the cool water, heat ignited in her again. Alone, she allowed her thoughts to linger, both curious of the direction they would take and embarrassed by them. She imagined soft skin, and the taste of sweat under her tongue, and warm hands paying attention to her body as she did to his.

Irissë knew how those things worked. She was aware of how two people may find pleasure in someone else’s body. Her mother had explained it to her when Irissë had started growing from a child to a girl.

She wasn’t entirely a stranger to feeling of heat coiling in her lower belly and between her legs. Now that she was alone, she could recognize arousal for what it was.

Sometimes in the past she had already tried to touch herself, fumbling to figure out what felt good. Now, she kept her hands well away from that part of her body. Arousal had always been a nameless, faceless experience.

It had never came to her because of _someone._ Irissë could appreciate beauty. Thinking back, she could remember times when she had found herself staring at one person or the other, but she had never been struck by them this way. Not this strongly, at least. Perhaps she had experienced a little hint of excitement before, but never this.

When her mother had explained to Irissë how desire worked, she had said that it was something that blossomed between two people who loved one another. That the consummation of that desire was what bounded couples in marriage. Because it was sacred. It was special.

In another occasion, Irissë had heard someone say that the Quendi were not animals. That people were different from beasts, and if it was a beast’s nature to mate freely, it was in the Quendi’s nature to only desire those that their  _fëa_ also desired. She wasn’t sure who had said so. Probably one of those stuffy, boring people who populated her grandfather’s court.

Irissë didn’t think she loved Tuvindo. She enjoyed his company, but she also knew him very little. He wasn’t quite a friend yet, and Irissë had heard that love was supposedly a deeper than friendship, and it made no sense for her to love someone she barely knew. She did not think of him and sigh, looking wistfully from a window, like the lovestruck maidens in those books her mother liked. She did not wish for his undivided attention, or to gaze into his eyes and find love there.

Irissë sat in that bathtub, and wondered what was it  that she felt. Desire, but no t love? She did n’ t understand. The two things came hand in hand, that was what she had been taught.  Was she falling for him, and had not realized it  yet ?

The thought disturbed her more than it should have been. She had never understood what was so special about being in love with someone. Most talks of it made her want to roll her eyes. The most memorable thing of any wedding she had ever attended was the banquet. She had been shocked, a few weeks before, when a friend of hers had told her she had fallen in love, because for Irissë the thought of love was still something vague and faraway.

She did not meet Tuvindo again for weeks, trying to clear her mind.

She did not want him in any way other than the physical one. She examined her feelings, dissected them, and the relief upon realizing she did not care for him in any other way than a friendly one was more than what probably appropriate. She only desired his body. Nothing else.

Perhaps, she thought, perhaps sometimes desire could spring up on its own. It had been nothing but a fluke, she decided. She had seen people being enamoured in the past, but without those feelings ever crossing into true love. Irissë must have experienced something similar. Just a little passing infatuation.

Weeks after, Tuvindo announced his pursuit of another girl, and Irissë felt neither hurt nor disappointed by this.

***

The first time Irissë realized she desired another woman she was in Alqualondë, visiting her aunt’s home with the rest of her family. She didn’t go there as often as uncle Arafinwë and his children did, but occasionally aunt Eärwen would invite them all to her father’s house, and it would be rude to refuse.

Irissë didn’t like Alqualondë as much as she liked Tirion. She had no interest in the sea, and she tired fast of the shore. Ships did not overly agree with her stomach. There were gardens in the city, but Irissë preferred wild forests to carefully kept parks. She had almost no friends in Alqualondë, and visits always left her bored and looking forward to going back home.

She walked through the halls of Olwë’s palace, trying to find something to occupy her mind with. Her brothers had went with her cousins to sail, but she had declined the invite. She didn’t feel like being sick off the side of the boat again.

She came to a small courtyard. Elegant arches surrounded the small green isle, and on low wall were two girls, one with dark hair and the other with silver.  They were dressed  like the palace’s servants . They stood up when they saw Irissë, and she realized  that between them was a platter with fruit and  two cups.

“My lady,” the dark haired one said, with a small bow. “We did not mean to slack.”

Irissë waved a hand. “You are not in trouble. I hardly know what your duties are, and I will not be angry because you decided to rest.”

The one who had spoken nodded, and there was a blush on her cheeks that made Irissë wonder if it was wine that they had been drinking. “Thank you. We will not disturb you longer.”

“You do not disturb me,” Irissë said. “You may stay, if you wish.”

“We have work to attend, my lady. With your permission,” the girl said, picking up the cup she had been drinking from.

The other one, the one with silver hair, did not seem in such a hurry to go, however. “Although they are not urgent.”

Her friend glared at her. “But we should still go back to them,” she said, and left.

“Did my presence upset your friend?” Irissë asked.

“She did not mean to offend you, my lady. She is a nervous girl,” the silver haired one replied, picking up the platter and the cup without hurry.

Irissë glanced at the fruits they had been eating. “What is that?” she asked, pointing at a strange, red ball.

“This? It’s a lychee, my lady.”

“I have never seen one,” Irissë said, picking one between her fingers. Alqualondë was full of strange plants that didn’t grow in Tirion. The fruit had a hard outside, with small bumps. “How does one eat them?”

“I’ll show you, if you wish.”

They sat on the wall, and the girl took the lychee from Irissë’s hands. She pressed with her nails on it, and the red outside cracked, revealing a white pulp in it. She handed the peeled fruit to Irissë. It was sweet.

The girl put her thumb in her mouth, sucking away at the juice that had stained it. An informal gesture, one that most servants would not do in front of a royal. Not that Irissë minded it, but she was surprised. Servants tended to be on their best behavior around her, before realizing Irissë only marginally cared about manners.

“What is your name?” Irissë asked, taking the large seed from her mouth.

“Melde.”

“Nice to meet you, Melde.”

“And you, my lady,” she said, taking a sip from her cup. Then, as an afterthought, she glanced at Irissë. “Do you wish for a taste?”

Not only did the girl not feel ashamed for having been caught drinking wine when she surely must have had other duties, but she also offered it to Irissë from the same cup she had been drinking from. Irissë liked this girl. She had never been fond of people who took rules too seriously.

“Please,” she said, and Melde passed the cup into her hands. Her fingers brushed against Irissë’s as she did, a brief contact that was more pleasant than it should have been. Irissë took a sip, noting how the cup was already half empty.

“Is it good?” Melde asked.

Irissë nodded. “Very. You have good taste for wine.”

“Thank you.” Melde’s words held the accent of Alqualondë, and her lips were very red as she smiled at Irissë. Irissë wondered if the wine had also stained her mouth that color. Had Irissë’s lips touched that cup in the same place as Melde’s? It was a strange question to ponder, and stranger still was the thrill the possibility had.

They sat until they had finished the fruit and the wine, and Melde said she could not stay any longer. Irissë hoped she had not put the girl in trouble. However, Melde didn’t seem too concerned by the time that had passed.

Irissë thought that her face seemed very hot, even if she hadn’t drank much.

Going back to her rooms, she wondered. Why had she been so fascinated by that girl’s smile? The curve of her mouth flashed in Irissë’s mind, and the small glimpse of a pink tongue as Melde cleaned her fingers. The girl’s company had been pleasant, but looking at her had been even more pleasant. The line of her jaw, the delicate curve of her neck, Irissë had found her eyes drawn to them.

Those red, wine stained lips, she thought again, so bright against Melde’s pale skin. Would Irissë have tasted the drink, licking them clean?

Closing the door of her rooms behind herself, she shuddered. For a reason she could not understand, that girl had made an effect on her. Irissë usually only felt this heat when around men. As it was supposed to. Women were attracted to men, and married men, that was how things were.

Irissë had heard occasionally of unions between two men, or two women, but they weren’t all that common. She didn’t personally know anyone who was a member of such a couple. She had heard some people express disapproval of those unions. Some said that they should take the married Valar as an example, and they all appeared as one male and one female. Others said that even if the involved people were in love, the goal of marriage was to produce children, and couples who couldn’t shouldn’t really be considered wed.

Irissë did not want a marriage, be it to man or woman. She had desired men before, and now she desired a woman. Those people who shook their heads at those who loved the same gender would also disapprove of her, wishing for the touch of a lover but not for their heart. How inappropriate.

As if she had ever cared for what was appropriate. Irissë went riding with the sons of Fëanáro, and ignored whatever rules she didn’t understand, and many times she had skipped her classes because she had drank too much the night before and slept long after she was meant to. People had disapproved of her actions for years. People disapproved of how she showed disdain for marriage and chased off any suitor. People would disapprove, if they knew how her body desired and her heart never followed.

And now, she found herself wishing she had taken a servant girl’s lower lip between her own and tugged at it, and she knew people would disapprove, and Irissë  cared not for that.

***

Irissë was at a feast that had been thrown by Nessa, and Nessa’s parties were known to become strange and wild at times. She led the dances, and they were so fast only her Maiar could follow her. Irissë danced as long as she could, but her legs began to hurt and her head to spin in the dizzying motions.

She wasn’t sure where Tyelkormo was. Irissë had come with him, because neither her brothers nor Tyelkormo’s much enjoyed the chaotic nature of Nessa’s parties. Irissë didn’t understand them, because she loved how the frantic dances could get her blood running, making her awake in the same way a galloping ride through the woods could.

She peered around, looking for a silver head, but some Teleri were at the party too, making Tyelkormo harder to find than in a Noldor crowd.

Irissë wanted to get herself a cup of wine, but instead she got swept up in another dance, and before she knew it she was moving again.

It was by accident that she found herself face to face with a young man. He took her by the hand, and twirled her, and she let him, laughing in delight. She did not know him, and he might have not known her, but he knew how to dance.

His eyes shone in a way that might have been due to wine. Irissë was not drunk, but her mind buzzed in tune with the bizarre music. She did not object when his arm wrapped around her waist, or when he raised her chin with one hand. If anything, her heart beat with new excitement.

His lips were soft and tasted sweet. They sent the most pleasurable shivers down Irissë’s back with their slow movement. She buried her hand in his hair, and pressed him closer to her.

It was a kiss, unmistakably, but there she didn’t care about this stranger. There was only the rush of her blood in her ears, and the scent of his skin, and the press of their bodies. It was a heady feeling, and it awoke in her a desire for a more she did not know how to ask for.

Then the kiss ended, and he grinned at her, and one more made her spin to the rhythm, and it was not only the dance now that made Irissë feel awake.

“What did you do?” Tyelkormo asked her later, after the party was over and the two of them went home.

Irissë shot him a mischievous glance. “I kissed someone.”

Tyelko was so surprised by the admission that he tripped. “You, kissing?!”

“Many people would love to kiss me, I’ll have you know.”

“I was convinced you held no interest in matters of the heart.”

“Who said my heart had anything to do with it? Last I checked, I only need my lips.”

Tyelko whistled. “Cousin, how scandalous! And tell me, who was he?”

“I don’t know,” Irissë answered.

She did not see him again, after that party, or if she did, she did not recognize him.

If she were another, she might have looked for him. First kisses were special, she had been told. The kind of things all little girl dream to share with their true love, or at least their first love. Even Findaráto, who had courted and pursued more people than he could probably count, would speak fondly of the first kiss he had ever shared, and how precious the memory was.

The memory, Irissë thought, could stay precious, but that did not mean the person had to. Irissë had no intention of knowing more about that man. If she went looking for him, then _he_ would think there was something special, might get strange ideas about what she wanted from him.

A press of lips outside of any bonds of love. It seemed to Irissë the sweetest first kiss she could have gotten.

***

There were books Irissë would read sometimes, that talked about romance and love and two people that circumstances forced apart. She did not have any interest in the plot, it was usually trite and annoying, and made her roll her eyes every two pages.

No, she was interested in very specific parts. The culmination of the two heroes’ journey, when at last they would overcome whatever pointless issue they had experienced and marry. The specific feelings involved did not mean much to her either, but the actions. Oh, the actions.

She would read them in the privacy of her own rooms, because she’d feel too embarrassed to be ever seen in public with those. She did not even buy those books, usually, only pilfered them from her more romance inclined relatives. Findekáno was the usual victim of her thievery. In Irissë’s opinion, her brother should be incredibly ashamed of his bookshelves.

There were details in those novels Irissë would have never even dreamt about writing down to share with the public, no matter how much of it was the author’s own experience or simply imagination. She learnt about many positions a man and a woman could be intimate in, and also a lot of things that could be done using hands and mouths.

Sometimes, she found stranger and unexpected things. She nearly dropped the book, once, when it started talking about _collars._

She never found anything concerning two women, but she did once find a book about two men, and one that was very explicit in describing acts Irissë had not been were done. She did not ask Findekáno why he had such a book.

The most annoying thing about those books, however, was that often in order to get to what Irissë was interested in she had to first go through chapters over chapters of the most annoying kind of romance. She often skipped as much as possible, uncaring about problems of the heart.

Especially ridiculous was how often someone would realize they loved the other because they wanted to kiss them, or touch them, or found themselves wondering about the softness of their skin. Love and desire did not work that way, in Irissë’s mind, and the more she read the more she had to wonder if people truly saw them as connected. Her own experiences told her they were not.

She did not love the noble at her grandfather’s court, who had sent Irissë’s mind spinning with the desire of kissing down her neck. She did not love the new stablehand, even if she would have loved to run her fingers under his shirt. She did not love anyone.

Sometimes she even wondered if love of the romantic kind was even real. The concept seemed more alien to her the more she learnt of it. What people and books described was strange and bizarre. To Irissë it all seemed incredibly undesirable.

Sometimes she wondered if she was the only one.

Occasionally, people would debate about the nature of love between two men or two women. Some would probably tell Irissë that she was wrong for being interested in other women, or at least that it should be secondary to her interest in men. There were others, however, who argued that such kind of interest was normal. Findekáno often defended that kind of love in those debates, debunking any arguments throwing against them with ease and a passion that often made Irissë wonder where did Findekáno’s own love lie. Irissë wondered whether she should confide in her brother.

She never did, because no one ever talked about how _she_ felt. She never heard anyone debate whether or not it was good and natural to split one’s physical attraction from one’s feelings altogether. In all books she read, it seemed that no one ever felt desire for the sake of desire. It was always a symptom of love, never something that existed on its own.

She didn’t think Findekáno would understand _that,_ not when he had such a positive views of love himself. She had tried to explain to Tyelkormo once, but she wasn’t sure whether he had understood. He had said that yes, he had felt desire for someone without being in love with them, but all those times there had still been a _hint_ of something. If not love, at least a seedling. A beginning of an infatuation. Not like Irissë, who was certain that there had never been _anything_.

Sometimes Irissë wondered whether there was something deeply wrong about the way Valinor worked, or whether she was the one who was born wrong. Because surely, if love was as wonderful as everyone said, then she should also find it wonderful. Yet here she was, thinking that being in love sounded about as pleasant as being trampled by a horse.

She was used to being different. The rebel, the rulebreaker. It suited her well.

She didn’t know if she wanted to be _unique._

***

“Spill it, brother. What is going on?” Findekáno said.

She was a woman, today. Sometimes it changed with her. It had taken some getting used to, when Findekáno had first said she was _sir_ _ëanassë_. Irissë had since learnt how to easily switch the way she thought of her sister whenever was needed.

Findekáno, however, was not the focus at the moment. Rather, Turukáno was.

The four of them were in Turukáno’s room. Arakáno was sprawled on their brother’s bed, but Turukáno didn’t seem to mind. He was standing, leaning against his desk, and looking quite nervous.

“Don’t mention this to our parents,” Turukáno said.

“Why, what did you do?”

“I did not do anything. Swear. All three of you.”

“Sworn,” Arakáno said.

“Sworn as well,” Irissë said.

Findekáno hummed, but did not swear. “You’re not usually one to keep secrets.”

“You’ll keep this one. Please.”

Findekáno sighed. “Very well. Nothing of what you tell us shall leave this room.”

Irissë was curious. It wasn’t like Turukáno to be hiding something from their parents. It was usually her or Arakáno who did. But Turukáno never got in trouble. He was boring that way.

Turukáno took a deep breath. “Elenwë asked for my hand.”

“Elenwë asked what?”

“She said… She said we should wed.”

Irissë gaped.

Arakáno rolled on his belly. “And what did you say?”

“I think I may accept. I haven’t decided yet, but I find the proposal… interesting.”

Arakáno whistled. Irissë just stared at her brother, wondering if she had heard right.

“Hold on,” Findekáno started. “If that is what you want, I’m happy for you, truly, but… I did not know you and Elenwë were interested in one another. Up until now, I believed there was nothing else but friendship between the two of you.”

Neither did Irissë. Her brother had never mentioned having feelings for Elenwë. Truth be told, he had never mentioned having feelings for anyone at all. He had always turned down all suitors. He had never expressed any dislike for marriage itself, but neither had he ever said that he was planning on courting someone.

It stung to think he may have kept this secret from them.

“In truth, there isn’t.”

Findekáno tilted her head in confusion, a small frown on her face. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not in love with her. She isn’t in love with me, either.”

“But she wants you marry you? And you want to marry her?” Irissë asked.

Irissë was confused. This made little sense in her head. She had never heard of anyone wanting to marry for other reasons than love. She wasn’t sure she was understanding what Turukáno was saying.

“We have talked. She told me she never felt romantic love for anyone. Not for me, nor for anyone else. She thinks she may never experience it. And I… I feel the same way.” Turukáno looked down at his feet. “I can’t remember ever feeling anything that could count as… love, or even just the beginning of it. At this point I doubt that ever will. It seems almost foreign, as a concept. Something that applies to other, but not to me.”

Irissë hadn’t known his feelings ran so deep. Lack of feelings, rather. Turukáno had told her he didn’t care so much for romance, but he had never put it this way.

Irissë wished he had, because those words quite resonated with her.

Turukáno continued. “Elenwë told me that she wishes to have a family one day. She loves children, you know. But to have a family she needs a husband, and she doesn’t want to pretend to love someone she does not. However, she says that she wouldn’t mind to marry a good friend, and start a family with him.”

“And thought of you?”

“Yes. Her words make sense. I don’t care much for marriage, but I think I would like to be a father one day. And she is a very good friend. She understands me better than most people do. Even if I don’t love her, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have by my side. Or… have children with.”

“I suppose your words make sense,” Findekáno said.

Arakáno huffed. “Not to me. But I also don’t care much for children.”

“I said they make sense, not that I share them,” Findekáno replied. “You know I want you to be happy, Turno. But I can’t help but wonder whether you are making the right choice. It may seem a good solution for you now, but who is to say that neither you nor Elenwë will ever fall in love?”

“I knew you would say that. No, I suppose I can’t say for certain that this marriage will work. But I do know myself, and I think this arrangement could suit me well.”

Later, after they had discussed it between them, turning Turukáno’s arguments inside out to examine them, Irissë went to speak to Turukáno alone.

“Do you… desire Elenwë?”

“Were you not there for the hour we spent talking?”

Irissë shook her head. “We talked about whether you love her. You never said that you don’t want her. Physically, I mean.”

“Oh.” Turukáno paused. “The answer is still no. I don’t particularly want to lay with her. I suppose we will have to, if we want to have children, but I don’t look forward to it.”

Irissë swallowed. “I thought maybe if you didn’t love her you could have still felt that way about her.”

“I don’t. As I understand, those feelings usually come hand in hand with being in love. I never felt one, so I never felt the other either.”

Irissë looked down. Her brother’s words made sense. They were in line with what everyone thought about those matters. The union of bodies was the ultimate expression of love, and true desire could not occur without true love to support it.

Perhaps Irissë was indeed the only one who was different.

“I don’t understand,” Irissë said. “But, Turno?”

“What is it?”

“What you said about having never loved anyone. I understand that. I do.”

Turukáno’s eyes widened slightly. “Irissë...”

“Just try not to make any stupid choices, alright?”

***

Things were not the same since Fëanáro and his sons had been exiled. Despite Finwë and the Valar trying to uphold peace, the air was still heavy and tense. Irissë needed to get out of her house and the oppressive atmosphere that often lingered around her father. However, riding out was also not quite the same without Tyelkormo, and Curufinwë, and the twins trailing behind them.

She sat, taking a rest, with Cestaro, a friend she would often spend time with now, because he had the same interests as her and because he had not aggressively started to believe himself superior to Fëanáro’s people since their exile. Which was more than could be said about other people Irissë knew.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, when she realized he had been staring at her face for a while now, unspeaking.

He blinked, lowering his eyes. “I did not mean to be disrespectful.”

Irissë raised an eyebrow. “What did you mean to do?”

“Please, do not be offended by this, but you have the most beautiful lips.”

Irissë swallowed. “I am not offended.”

“Would it offend you then, if I confessed I wished to kiss them?”

“No.” He was a handsome man, and Irissë would be lying if she said the thought of kissing him would be displeasing.

Nor was the action. He brushed away Irissë’s hair, his fingers lightly caressing her neck. Irissë held on to his shoulders, and beneath the fabric of his clothes she felt an archer’s strong muscles. He was so warm, even through his tunic.

His lips left her mouth, and trailed kisses along the curve of her jaw. No one that Irissë had kissed before had done this. She liked it. She arched her neck, giving him more space. Her breath caught when teeth gently pressed against her throat, not biting, only making her aware of their presence.

Her hand found where his tunic opened around his neck, and her fingers slipped beneath it. She caressed his warm skin, and he gasped at that small contact. His own hand he had put on her waist, and that pressure ignited nerves that went directly down to Irissë’s core.

A loud sound escaped her lips when he left an open mouthed kiss at the juncture of her neck. His tongue had brushed her skin, and instead of finding it disgusting as usually would have, it had been the most arousing contact Irissë could think of.

Right then, however, he pulled away.

“My apologies, I overstepped.”

Irissë took a deep breath, grounding herself. “No, don’t apologize.”

He smiled a strange smile. His blue eyes shined with an emotion Irissë was not quite able to name.

She only realized what it was once they had rode back, and had almost reached the far ends of the woods close to Tirion.

“My lady,” he said, “would you accept my desire to court you?”

His smile was mischievous, as if in to a secret the both of them knew, but Irissë’s eyes only widened in shock. “Court me?”

Cestaro’s smile dimmed when he saw her reaction. “Yes?”

“You wish to court me?” Irissë asked.

“Why else would I have kissed you in such a way, earlier?”

“You did not say you had feelings towards me!” Irissë accused. She should have imagined it, she should have!

He frowned. “I thought it was obvious. If that was not the case, why then did you kiss me back?”

Irissë shook her head. “I refuse your courtship.”

“But-!”

“Goodbye,” she said, and pushed her horse to a canter, leaving him behind. She did not want to see his heartbreak in his eyes, or hear what pleads he had.

Because surely now she would become cruel and cold in his eyes. Because she did not feel for him the way he did for her, and so that would be her fault. She knew that was what people always said, when they saw her turn down yet another suitor. Be kinder, Irissë, they did nothing wrong, why must you be so angry with them?

Why could she not be angry, instead? Maybe she should have guessed, imagined Cestaro’s true intentions, because no one would kiss another without loving them, unless they were Irissë with her heart of ice. She should have been aware no one would want what she wanted, that she was the only one in Valinor who longer for the touch of another but fled from their love.

But he had not said, nor given her hints that he apparently loved her. On the contrary, Irissë had often heard him talk of how little he thought of love, because he had courted a girl in his youth once and then she broke their engagement to be with another. She hadn’t thought he would… She had thought if there were people who could only want to share a kiss, and nothing more, then he would be one of them.

Instead, it once again appeared Irissë was alone with her feelings. He was not the first friend she had lost because they had started caring for her in a way she did not wish. Pitiful scorned lovers, with their hearts broken, not like Irissë, who only hurt because of a broken friendship. They could go and find themselves a new love, if they wanted, but she would have to keep her feelings and desires for herself.

She slowed her horse down, reaching the doors of the city. He could go around and say how cold she was, how she had _betrayed_ him in such an uncaring way. Betrayed! Betrayal implied she had hurt him purpose, that she had been aware of what she was doing, that she had planned.

No. No, if anything, _she_ felt betrayed. Even if that kiss had never happened, Irissë still would have felt so. Receiving attentions of the romantic kind always made her want to scrub her skin clean. She was disgusted by them, perhaps the only one to have ever felt in such a way, and she was so, so _tired_ of being the villain for not swallowing her tongue and telling how utterly sorry she was for not being able to force her heart in their direction.

***

Taeneth was a Sindar, one of the very few in their midst. She had left Doriath long before the Noldor had come, disagreeing with some of Thingol’s policies.

“May I ask you something about your people?”

Taeneth tilted her head. “Anything you wish, Aredhel.”

Aredhel, as Taeneth called her, still struggled at times to understand Sindarin. Taeneth was… a friend, Aredhel supposed she could call her, and usually spoke slowly with her, to help her catch all the words. Now, however, they had both had a few cups of the heady wine the Nandor made, and Taeneth’s accent was coming harder.

“Is it common for the Sindar to marry two women, or two men?” Aredhel asked. She was not sure her grammar had been correct, but she was tipsy enough to not care.

Taeneth had mentioned before that she had once loved another woman, who had died at the hands of Orcs. Aredhel had been curious about that for some time.

“Common enough. Is it not done between the Noldor? I have never seen such couples among your people, but I have also not lived long with you.”

“It’s allowed, there are people who do that, but some people don’t considered it… what’s the word, not… good?”

“Not proper?” Taeneth suggested.

Aredhel nodded. “Yes.”

“You Noldor are strange folk,” Taeneth said, taking a sip from her cup. “Our King is married to a Maia, for two women or men to love each other is less weird than that. I don’t understand what your concepts of proper is.”

“People say that a marriage should be done in order to have children. Those couples cannot have them.”

“Ah. Is that why your law state a marriage is between two people who lay together?” Taeneth asked. “I also found that strange, when I heard it.”

“Do you not agree then? Do the Sindar accept… those acts, without love?”

Taeneth shrugged. “I would not say without love. Most who engage with them are indeed in love, but we don’t find them equal to marriage. Otherwise, I would have been married a long time ago.” She looked down. “Not that I did not wish to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. Rather tell me, Aredhel, why this interest?”

It was Aredhel’s turn to swallow. “I… have held interest in men and women both.” There was a strange thrill in sharing it with someone.

“Indeed? And here I heard that the White Lady of the Noldor never loved anyone.”

“That is true. There is none I ever loved, but there are some who...” Aredhel trailed off, her face growing warm not only because of the wine.

“I see.” Taeneth’s eyes were shining. “My lady, Aredhel, don’t be angry, please.”

“Why would I be?”

Taeneth licked her lips. “Sometimes, I know, people might lay together even if they are not in love.”

Aredhel swallowed. “Is that so?”

“I have never done it myself, as it is… not proper, as you would say.”

“But?” Aredhel said.

“But you are very beautiful, my lady, and if you wish...”

Aredhel’s gaze stopped on Taeneth’s full, soft looking lips. “I wish,” she whispered, her heart speeding up.

Taeneth’s lips were indeed as soft as they seemed. Her tongue licking into Aredhel’s mouth was unexpected, but pleasurable in a way Aredhel would have not guessed.

It was not the only thing Taeneth did with her tongue that Aredhel found pleasurable. So was feeling it against the skin of her neck, her collarbones, her breasts. When Taeneth sucked on a spot at the juncture of Aredhel’s neck, Aredhel found herself letting out a whine that was almost humiliating.

Surely her skin was not so sensitive usually. Little touches and brushes of Taeneth’s fingers sent shivers down Aredhel’s back. Goosebumps rose on her body as Taeneth bared it, but the chill of the night was fast forgotten. The kisses and touches left a burning warmth, way too hot to simply be the heat of Taeneth’s skin.

There was something entirely different about the feeling of arousal when there was another person touching her.

Clumsily, Aredhel tried to imitate Taeneth’s action, caressing what skin she could reach. She buried her fingers in Taeneth’s black hair, perhaps to touch her and perhaps holding onto it as Taeneth focused her attentions on Aredhel’s breasts.

Her entire body shuddered when Taeneth’s fingers brushed against her core. Strangled little sounds escaped her as she rocked against that touch. It was so intense, so much more than when Aredhel touched herself.

It became even more intense when Taeneth got rid of Aredhel’s clothes altogether, leaving her bare. She laid her down on her bed, and lavished her with attention.

“Just lay down, my lady,” she whispered, as Aredhel attempted to reciprocate. “Allow me to show you.”

What could Aredhel do, if not comply? She let Taeneth kiss and touch her body, simultaneously tensing and melting under the attentions. She bit her lips, attempting to keep her noises in, when Taeneth slipped a finger inside of her. There was that spot, the one Aredhel had found exploring her own body. Taeneth seemed to know exactly where to look for it. She rubbed the pad of her finger against it, as with her thumb she instead circled that little nub that felt equally wonderful.

Aredhel’s climax was a small revelation, washing through her body in waves. She shuddered helplessly, her mind completely blank. Taeneth left a kiss on Aredhel’s chest, whispering words of honey.

And for nights after that, Taeneth showed Aredhel’s pleasure again, and for her part Aredhel learnt how to do the same for her.

It was not proper. The other Noldor would surely find it a scandal for Aredhel to engage in such acts. It was rebellion against what Aredhel had always been taught, and that rebellion filled her with even more excitement than being naked in Taeneth’s beautiful arms did. Aredhel walked among rebels, and yet she was breaking more rules than most of them were.

Until Taeneth came to her one day, an apology in her eyes.

“My lady, I consider you a good friend, but I cannot continue with our… encounters.”

Aredhel swallowed. “Why not?”

“In all honesty... it pains me. My beloved, she was… she was a free spirit. She loved to ride and run in the woods, the wind in her dark hair. There are times when you remind me of her, and my heart aches.”

Aredhel closed her eyes. “I understand.”

Grief was a powerful thing. Aredhel was no stranger to it. She knew the pain that came with being reminded of the friends and brother she had lost. The gelid knife when the memories got a little too close to the surface. She wouldn’t begrudge Taeneth for missing her old love.

Even if it bittered her memories to know she had been seen as an image of someone to be loved.

***

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel at ease, my lady?”

Aredhel smiled. “You have been quite the gracious host so far, I wouldn’t want to impose further.”

It had been kind of Eöl to take Aredhel into his home, when he had found her wandering hopelessly through Nan Elmoth. He could have simply showed her the way, he had no obligation to offer her a warm meal and a place to rest.

His halls were strange, reminding Aredhel vaguely of the brief time she had spent in Doriath, and yet different from the way Menegroth was built. Less forest imagery, more stone, and as a Noldor Aredhel couldn’t say she minded. The room Eöl had offered her was spacious, and the food had been delicious after days of eating nothing but what she could hunt.

Eöl smiled back. “You are no imposition. It is not often I have guests.”

According to rumors, Eöl did not appreciate strangers. Aredhel had been warned many times about the strange Elf who ruled Nan Elmoth, but now that she met him he was nothing but polite and thoughtful. Aredhel was almost beginning to wonder if there were two different Eöl in the forest.

“I can’t say that I lack anything,” Aredhel said. “Although I would not mind some company before retiring for the night. I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to anyone since I lost my companions.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

There was a grace to Eöl’s movements that couldn’t help but captivate Aredhel. His every motion was languid, like a cat’s. His body was built with a smith’s muscles, and yet he seemed so light as he walked.

He was handsome. His face had strong lineaments, his eyebrows elegantly arched. Not the face of someone who smiled often, but his smile was quite charming. Dark, deep eyes, full of intelligence, and a little scar on his cheekbone that was less of a flaw and more of a well placed decoration.

They sat on two armchairs by the fireplace, talking, and Aredhel found herself thinking that she would have loved to press her mouth to his, see if she could taste the forest on his lips.

She also found herself noticing how Eöl’s gaze was enraptured as she spoke, his eyes never leaving her face. Despite herself, she found that there was warmth starting to heat her cheeks under that gaze. He was looking at her as if she were the most precious of jewels.

Aredhel was not unused to being looked at in such a way. Many through the years had gazed upon her with longing, and she hadn’t always been pleased by it.

The emotion swirling in Eöl’s eyes, however, was something Aredhel was not quite used to. It was not the dancing delight of infatuation, nor the flame of deeper feelings. It was something heavy and thick, something Aredhel struggled to name.

Her words trailed off. Eöl blinked, unspeaking for a few moments.

“Forgive me, my lady, if I appear rude,” he said, eventually, “but your beauty is a rare thing, and I found myself distracted by it.”

Aredhel swallowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You must have many pursuers.”

“Too many,” Aredhel sighed.

“Why do you say that?”

“I am uninterested in marriage.”

“I see,” Eöl said. “I also share a similar sentiment. I have met many remarkable women in my life, but my eye has rarely been caught, and my interest was never enough to consider courting.”

“And what was it enough for, my lord?” Aredhel chanced.

“To enjoy their company. To perhaps wish for a kiss, or...” Eöl trailed off. “But I should not be discussing such things with you, my lady. It is not subjects fit for polite company, let alone that of a noblewoman. My apologies, I understand by your people’s standards the customs of us natives of Beleriand are somewhat… shameless.”

Aredhel shivered. “The conversation did not offend me. Nor do your customs.”

“They don’t?” Eöl asked.

Aredhel shook her head. Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t remember ever being looked at with this intensity. Not by her many suitors, not by Taeneth, who gazed at shadow of her old lover through her. Eöl’s attention was wholly on her, scorching.

“I’m glad.” Eöl reached out, brushing a lock of hair from Aredhel’s face. “Then, may I keep speaking?”

“I would be glad.”

What was Aredhel doing? Was Eöl truly meaning what Aredhel thought he was? And was Aredhel truly going to entertain him?

She barely knew Eöl. To lay with him despite having only met him today would be _scandalous._ Forbidden. Her family would beyond disapprove of such an action.

In a few days, Aredhel would leave Nan Elmoth. No one would ever know. A little secret between her and Eöl.

Eöl’s mouth fitted on top of her. His lips were soft, and hungry. Aredhel held on to his shoulders, responding to him in kind. She almost felt as if she would be devoured.

Any doubt she may have had vanished. She forgot herself in the kiss. Her hands caressed those strong, smith arms, feeling the muscle beneath his robes. She had no words as he made her stand from her armchair and walked her to the bed, almost without breaking the kiss.

He knelt atop of her. His hands grabbed her dress, and ripped it.

Aredhel flinched, looking down at the way her chest was now exposed.

“Apologies. I will have my seamstress fix it for you,” he said, a lopsided grin on his lips.

She decided she would forgive him the second he descended on her again. Eru, the things he did to her were wicked. His mouth and hands mapped her body. He surrounded her, dizzied her.

His teeth grazed the juncture of her neck, and then sunk in. Aredhel’s eyes widened in surprise at the pain. Her first instinct was to pull him away, but she found the hand she buried in his hair was instead pressing him closer. Moans spilled from her lips when he released her, his tongue soothing the skin. For some reason she could not explain, rather than put her off, the action had aroused her further.

Her fingers traveled along Eöl’s back, closing around his tunic. “Take it off.”

Eöl chuckled. “A please, my lady?”

“ _Please_ , my lord, allow me the pleasure of your bare skin.”

He complied, taking his hands off of her just long enough rid himself of the offending garments. Aredhel was most delighted by that, and decided to repay Eöl’s earlier bite in kind.

He growled at that. She loved that sound.

His hand snuck beneath what remained of her dress, exploring. He found her already beginning to grow wet. “Impatient, my lady,” he purred, slipping one of his long, calloused fingers inside.

Aredhel whined. “You are making a very good cause for yourself, my lord.”

“Have you ever been taken by someone?”

Aredhel clenched around his finger at those words. “No.”

“Allow me then to introduce you,” Eöl said, his voice low.

A nervousness settled in her stomach. She saw Eöl sitting up, undoing the fastening of his pants. Aredhel’s eyes widened at the sight of him. She had never seen anyone erect before, and she worried now about whether it would fit in her.

“I...” she started, unsure what to say.

“I will be gentle,” he said, settling between her spread legs. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Aredhel swallowed as he pressed against her entrance. She relaxed herself, taking deep breaths. He was big. The slide in was strange, uncomfortable. As he pushed in further, Aredhel started to feel a hint of pain. Not enough to make her stop him, but it wasn’t pleasurable either.

She held on to his arms as he slowly slotted himself in place, until his hips stilled against hers.

Eöl grunted, eyes fluttering close for a second. “See? It is not bad.”

Aredhel nodded. It wasn’t bad, but she would not call it good either. Strange, and not overly pleasant. A more foreign feeling than fingers were.

Still, the fact that he was inside her was making her arousal build up. It made her head spin. It seemed worth a little discomfort to have him in her.

She hissed when he started moving. She trusted that it would become better soon. She trusted Eöl to make it good. He had been nothing else but to her.

And it did. As he moved, as Aredhel relaxed, she began to enjoy it. He rubbed that good spot within her, and lavished her with kisses and touches. Aredhel wrapped her arms around him, fingers digging in his back. He whispered things in her ear, and she was not interested in their meaning as much as she was in the sound of his voice.

The pressure in her built, her stomach burning with it. Moans fell from her lips as she rocked against him. She had no frame of reference to compare the feeling, but she felt he must have clearly known what to do, to bring her such pleasure.

One day, she thought, she’d also be the expert, the one who wrought out moans from a lover as she took them apart with her touch. For now, however, Aredhel was content to enjoy what Eöl did to her.

It was with a low groan that she reached her peak. He did not stop as she clenched around him, rather thrusting into her almost frantically, until he also groaned, deep in his throat, hips snapping against hers one last time.

“I do hope you will choose to stay a little longer in my realm, my lady,” he whispered against the skin of her shoulder.

“If you ask so kindly, I cannot possibly refuse,” Aredhel said.

A few weeks, instead of a few days, perhaps. Not so long as to worry her family too much, but a little more than she had planned. A couple weeks. Three maybe.

Depending on how convincing Eöl would be.

***

“Was there ever love between you and my father?”

“Why do you ask this?”

“I’m curious,” Lómion replied. “I can’t remember you ever saying you loved him, not even when I was a child and didn’t yet understand what was happening between you and him. I can’t remember _him_ ever saying he loved you, but I also can’t remember him ever saying anything positive about anyone.”

Once, Aredhel’s mother had told her that children could ask the hardest questions. Anairë had always been a great debater, and yet by her own admission she had never struggled to find words quite as much as when her toddlers asked something she didn’t quite know how to answer.

Aredhel understood that well. She had begun to understand when Lómion was little – why was father always angry? Why did mother seem sad? Why was he not allowed to talk in Quenya in front of father? Why could they not visit all the places mother told stories about?

The thing was, it was not just toddlers who asked hard questions. They had a talent for it, because young children were good at noticing things their parents didn’t want them to see. Still, even adults could put their parents in quite the tight spot.

“Would it make you happy if I said there was?”

Lómion shrugged. “I don’t think it matters it much, in the end. His feelings don’t change his actions towards you.”

“But they may change your own feelings.”

Lómion did not answer that.

Aredhel sighed. “I believe he did love me. At first, at least.”

“And you?”

“...no. I never did.”

“Then why marry him? If you did not want him, what was there to gain for you?”

“There was a lot to gain, if we want to look at it this way. From a political standpoint, better ties between the Noldor and the people of Beleriand.” Or at least if Eöl had ever let Aredhel out of that forest, but Aredhel hadn’t known how it would end when she had agreed. “I could have a new home. He was quite generous with gifts, in the beginning. A husband has many uses, objectively.” Some of which she would not mention in front of her son. “You. Having a child was not my original plan, but you are reason enough to justify being with him.”

“I know some who would disagree.”

“You are my son, Lómion. I don’t want to discuss Gondolin again, I believe we have talked about it more than enough. Show me a mother who does not think of her children as her greatest treasure, regardless of what they may have done.”

Nerdanel had more than once climbed Taniquetil to appeal for her children to Manwë himself. Míriel had her rooms in Vairë’s Halls covered in tapestries of Fëanor, or so Aredhel had heard. Hearing what Lómion had done had felt like dying all over again, but Aredhel would have to rip her own heart out in order to stop loving him.

Lómion frowned. Some people who had met Eöl said Lómion looked like him. It would be foolish to try and deny it. His nose was Eöl’s, and so was his chin.

The face he made when he was in deep in thought, however, was exactly identical to Turukáno’s. It pained Aredhel to notice those similarities between her son and her brother. How she wished she had been able to be with Lómion longer. That she had not left him in Gondolin alone and been there for him instead.

She wondered sometimes if things would have turned out different had Eöl’s aim that day been worse.

“I am… confused,” Lómion said. “You say you think father loved you at some point, but how can you tell?”

Aredhel sighed. “You forget that our marriage bond existed.”

Still existed. Aredhel was still aware of it, thrumming in her chest. She had become quite used at ignoring its presence.

Aredhel hadn’t wanted the bond at first. But Eöl had many times told her that a marriage would not be seen as truly valid without it. Many times he had brushed his _fëa_ against hers. In the end Aredhel had given in to it. Looking back, she cursed her younger self for having fallen in to Eöl’s demands.

No, that was not the right way to think. She might have been naive, but it was not in the end her fault that Eöl had abused her trust. Thousands of years after, she still had to repeat that to herself.

“I could feel it, Lómion, what your father felt for me,” Aredhel said.

“Love?”

“In all fairness, I don’t know if I can call it love. I never loved anyone the way a wife does. I wouldn’t be able to recognize that sort of feeling. I know that what Eöl felt for me was different than the way I ever felt about someone, and perhaps it was indeed… if not love, at least infatuation. I felt it fade over time, and turn into something sour and obsessive, but at first? Something was there.”

She would not call it affection or care. Those were concepts she was fairly sure Eöl was unfamiliar with. There had been… attraction, of a kind that had shocked Aredhel. Fiery and passionate. Just the way she had always been told falling in love was like.

“I think I understand that,” Lómion said. The frown was still there.

“I said I didn’t want to talk about Gondolin, but it is about Gondolin, isn’t it?”

The way Lómion fidgeted gave Aredhel her answer. She had had to relearn how to read her son after his rebirth, after all the time spent apart. She thought she was doing a good job at it now.

“I always used to think that I… that what I felt for Idril was… love,” Lómion started. His voice was halting, the way it always was when he spoke of his past wrongs. Words fell from his mouth slowly, as if pushed out by force. “It was the only way I could describe it. It was consuming. I remember being a boy and… thinking about her, all the time. How her face crept into my thoughts, the way her laughter would make me feel light. At least, before… Before. It was exactly how everyone said love was.”

“But?”

“But everyone now tells me that I never loved her at all. And I think that perhaps they are right, that I never did love her. That it was only some form of… obsession. Yet now you tell me that you think father loved you, even if he tried to keep you locked in Nan Elmoth like a prisoner.”

Aredhel leaned across the table that separated them, and took Lómion’s hands in hers. “There is something, Lómion, that I realized while I waited in Mandos.”

“What is it?”

“No emotion is always good, and no emotion is always bad,” Aredhel said.

“Love is good. By definition.”

She rubbed her thumb on her son’s fingers. Strong and calloused from smithwork. Like Eöl’s. Like Curufinwë’s. Like she assumed her uncle’s had once been. “Love can be good. But love can also be poisoned and corrupted. And sometimes people do things out of love, but only end up hurting others instead.”

She thought back of Turukáno, of how proud he was of Gondolin. Aredhel understood now that he had acted out of love in trying to keep her there. He had lost Elenwë. They had all lost Arakáno. Turukáno had thought that by having everyone safe in Gondolin he would be able to protect his loved ones.

He hadn’t been able to understand he was only suffocating Aredhel that way.

“I don’t think the wrongs you did towards Idril were because you never loved her. You tell me you believe you desired her as a wife, that there was a time when you wanted her as a partner and not as a prize. I believe you did. And I believe that it was exactly because of that that you in the end hurt her.”

“Are you saying love corrupted me?”

“I’m saying like all things, love has to be managed the right way. One has to be taught how to love properly, and to my regret you were not.”

“My faults are not yours,” Lómion murmured.

No, they were not. At the same time, Aredhel knew she would have never been able to truly explain to her son how love should work, no more than a horse would be able to explain to an eagle how to fly.

***

Aredhel truly believed there should be a way to dissolve marriages. For her sake, but also for others. Not that many people had been murdered by their spouse, but that was a low standard to hold a marriage to. There were many ways in which a couple could grow unhappy without violence.

“At times I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self to be less hasty.”

“Don’t we all,” Aredhel said.

Limbësír was a friend she had made in recent years. They had met while hunting in the woods, and found that they had many things in common. Including marriages they should have put more thought into.

Not that Limbësír and his wife despised each other, on the other hand, they were quite friendly. They had been in love when they had wedded, in that reckless way young people love, in Limbësír’s own words. They had been born in Hithlum, under Fingon’s rule, and married right after its fall. Both barely even of age. They had been scared of dying without ever having a chance to be happy together.

They hadn’t been wrong. Terciel had been killed in the War of Wrath. Limbësír, for his part, had lived on under Gil-Galad’s reign, eventually sailing when he had grown tired of Middle Earth. He had changed much, from when he had been a youth of barely a hundred, scared and in love. Terciel had changed as well, in the centuries spent in Mandos and later in Valinor.

Sometimes, such marriages still worked. Other times, two people changed too much for the love that had been there to stay the same.

Limbësír sighed. “I don’t begrudge her for falling in love with another. I told her she had my blessing to be with him. I simply… don’t know what to do.”

“I wish I could help you,” Aredhel said. “Perhaps I may introduce you to my cousin Finrod, if you don’t know him already.”

“We’ve never met, no.”

“His circumstances are not quite the same as yours, but you could consider him sort of an expert in such matters.”

Limbësír laughed. “That I heard, my lady. Perhaps he may advise us.”

Finrod had caused quite the scandal in the past few centuries. He had always been quite generous with his attentions to others, ever since Aredhel could remember. He had never married, in his first life, but not out of lack of choices. Rather because he had too many, and did not know which to pick.

People had believed that after being reborn he might have at last married Amarië. The two of them had mended their relationship, and in many ways lived as a married couple did. They shared a house, as well as many little shows of affection typical of those who were in love. They _were_ in love.

They were just not _exclusively_ in love with each other. They had an arrangement, they’d explained to Aredhel. Finrod’s heart didn’t know how to be content with only one. His love tended to be split between many people, but wasn’t for that less true. He and Amarië had not married, because as they said it would have felt hypocritical to promise themselves to each other when they were not going to keep those vows.

Amarië let Finrod court others who interested him, so long as he was honest with her. And if Amarië ever wanted to do the same, Finrod would allow her.

A truly scandalous arrangement, for the customs of Valinor. Considering that Aredhel’s grandparents’ marriage was still one of a kind, Finrod’s choices went completely against everything people thought a relationship should be.

Limbësír sighed. “Although I suppose my concerns are not only of the practical kind.”

“What are they, then?”

“I spent all the centuries without her thinking of what I would do upon meeting her again. Missing her, feeling the emptiness her death had left in me. And now that our feelings have changed, it seems that I have wasted those centuries.”

“I don’t believe you did. If you had not married her, you would have spent those centuries regretting not doing so. Even if you had fallen in love with someone else, would you have married them? Or would you have waited for her anyways?”

“You are quite wise, my lady,” Limbësír murmured.

“I am various centuries older than you are, after all.”

“And I am grateful for the advice of my elders.” Limbësír paused. “But you are right. Had I not married her, I still would have not followed my heart otherwise. Even now that she has given me permission to look for a new beloved, I hesitate. I have spent to so long restraining my heart that I don’t know what to do with it now. Do you have any advice for this as well?”

“Unfortunately, no. I don’t believe anyone would blame me if I fell for someone else, but I have no desire to.”

Limbësír hummed. “None at all? I don’t mean to overstep, but...”

“Are you asking if there is anything of my marriage that was ever good?” Aredhel asked. “You are not overstepping. And indeed there is one thing that I would like to experience again.”

“What is it?”

“Sex.”

After a beat, Limbësír burst out laughing. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“Best part of my marriage,” Aredhel sighed. Truly, Eöl’s body had always been his best and perhaps only quality.

“It was a good thing, yes,” Limbësír said. “I don’t believe I can love someone else again, or at least not for some time yet. But I would not mind someone to… Ah, I’m sorry, my lady. I’m being too open.”

“You are not offending me, my friend. I assure you, whatever you have to say will not be a shock for me.”

“I suppose you are no delicate maiden.”

“No,” Aredhel cheerfully replied. “I’m not. And I will tell you, were I not a married woman I would gladly take on the Sindar ways.”

Limbësír laughed. “The Sindar ways!”

“Oh, shush. I grew up knowing that the union of bodies was also the union of _fëar_. It was the way of the Sindar to engage in those acts without forming a marriage.”

“Forgive me, but in Middle Earth only the truly old called them the Sindar way.”

Aredhel supposed that was true. For the Noldor of Beleriand and later Middle Earth those customs were the norm. They had mingled enough with other populations that if anything it was the old Valinorean ways that were strange. Aredhel, for her part, was an ancient lady, raised with different rules.

“But,” Limbësír started, “if we accept that someone may love again outside of a marriage, should we not also accept that one might engage in the _Sindar ways_ after being married?”

“I… suppose so.” It had crossed Aredhel’s mind, at times. “But even then, that usually involves two people being in love. It would be expected.”

And that was the issue, for Aredhel. How could she trust that love would not be required of her? Eöl had already abused that trust once. How could Aredhel know that, if she were to be with someone, they would not demand more than she was willing to give? There were some injuries that not even Mandos could heal. Aredhel had had to put much work into getting rid of the fear Eöl had left in her heart, and some days she still wasn’t sure she had chased it entirely.

And even if she could completely forget Eöl, it didn’t change the fact that she did not want others to love her. Not romantically, at least. Those attentions had been unpleasant when she was young, and they had stayed that way. She would never be able to explain why being the recipient of them had always made her skin crawl. She only knew that the least she had to deal with love, the happier she would be.

“True. I imagine it would need two people who both are uninterested in finding love. Or who…” Limbësír suddenly stopped. “Never mind.”

“Never mind?”

“It’s not important.”

“Please, tell me.”

Limbësír licked his lips. “I was about to say that you may want to look for someone who also comes from a failed marriage. Who also does not feel interested in a new relationship. But then I realized what that would sound like, and it was not my intention to suggest it, my lady.”

Aredhel frowned, mulling those words over in her head, before understanding. “Oh.”

Well. Limbësír was quite handsome, with warm, dark eyes and high cheekbones. Aredhel had never much entertained those thoughts, but she would not have minded exploring the lines of his face with her fingers.

He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to make unwanted advances.”

Aredhel mulled over it. She could say that she trusted Limbësír. She was fairly sure, from the way he spoke, that he was indeed not at all interested in finding a new love. If she were to look for such kind of arrangement, who would better than a friend, that she had known for a few decades, and who had never been anything but honest and forthcoming with her?

An instinct that she couldn’t quite silence told her not to consider it. Her desires had already led to her being manipulated once. After being released from Mandos, Aredhel had firmly ignored them for half an Age. Not that it had been a problem – no one had made that kind of advance on her after she had married.

Now that the possibility had presented itself, Aredhel hesitated. Any needs she had she had learnt to satisfy with her hand, and with certain toys. She would like to feel another’s touch, but she could also easily go without it for the rest of her life. It would surely be safer that way. Less chances of another bad outcome.

But Aredhel staunchly refused to let Eöl dictate her life anymore. He had had too much control on her, for far too long. She would not let his shadow keep making choices in her stead.

Once upon a time, she had never been afraid of the consequences of what she did. Perhaps she had been cautious long enough. Perhaps she should start taking some risks again.

“Let’s say unexpected advances, more than unwanted,” Aredhel said.

Limbësír’s eyes widened. “My lady?”

“I will not hide that I… have some uncertainties, when it comes to these things. However, if you are interested, I would be willing to… discuss.”

That was what Finrod said he did with new prospective lovers. Discuss. Make sure everything understands what is wanted and what is forbidden.

Aredhel had never been much one for discussion when it came to feelings of any kind. However, she had had to learn that sometimes words are necessary.

“This is unexpected,” Limbësír said. “But I am open to discussion.”

Aredhel smiled. She hoped this would be a good choice.

***

“I think I see him,” Arakáno said.

Aredhel followed her brother’s eyes. Sure enough, she could see Fingon riding towards them. About time. Her horse was getting impatient, having had to wait for so long.

“Did you forget the road here?” Arakáno asked, once Fingon had almost reached them.

“Apologies, for having kept you waiting,” Fingon replied, as he slowed his horse from a trot to a walk. “I was kept at court longer than I hoped.”

“You should stop going to court,” Aredhel said. “It’s bad for you.”

Fingon sighed. “I wish I could. No matter if I’m not King anymore, people still want me to offer my opinion on everything.”

“You can say that uncle has you argue so he doesn’t have to do so himself.”

“Can you blame him?”

“No,” Aredhel said. She had always hated court matters with a passion.

Arakáno turned his horse. “Come on, an afternoon in the woods might cheer you up.”

They went along the road leading out of Tirion, following it as it narrowed into a path through the trees. It was a nice spring day. The scent of flowers permeated the air. It was the reason they had not brought Turukáno, he did nothing but sneeze whenever he went through the woods in this season. A pity, because it prevented him from enjoying such wonderful days.

It was easy to see, however, that Fingon was not appreciating the nature around them as he usually would. His posture was rigid. Hard lines were still set into his face, as if he were debating something inside his head.

“What is it, Finno?” Aredhel asked.

“Hm?”

“It’s obvious there’s something wrong. What did they say to you?”

Fingon shook his head. “We live in the Third Age of the world, and still some people cling to ideas born beneath the Trees. Ideas that were ignorant even at the time.”

“I have stopped marveling at that,” Arakáno said.

“What are those musty carcasses complaining about now? The influences of Sindarin on Quenya? The differences between Exilic and traditional Noldor culture and the merits of each?” Aredhel asked.

Sometimes she wondered why her uncle didn’t just toss some people out of court. Those who were still convinced they lived under the Trees should not have a say in the society of those who lived under the Sun. Arafinwë was far too patient with them. Aredhel would have chased them with a sword, had she been the one in charge. No matter how wise they were or how much they had done for their people.

“Surely they can’t be still discussing grandfather’s marriage” Arakáno said.

“We were on the topic of marriage, yes. Specifically that between two men or two women, and whether it should be considered equal to that of a man and a woman.” Fingon shook his head. “You would think people would have finally grown out of such ideas by now.”

“What did they say now?”

“Oh, the usual. That if marriage is done in order to have children, then a union between those who cannot should be considered a lesser form of union.”

Aredhel sighed. “Should all couples who cannot have children be considered unmarried, then? Should we change the law so that a marriage only becomes valid once a child is born?”

“Exactly! I told them, I am _sirëanassë._ If I married a _nér_ , and got her pregnant, would our marriage still be unvalid because I am a _nér_ too at times? And if I married a _nís,_ would the marriage be valid even if I cannot become pregnant? And what of all those other unions where a _nís_ cannot sire children, or a _nér_ cannot bear them?” Findekáno shook his head. “Then they told me that well, those of us whose _fëar_ goes beyond the mere confines of the _hröa_ have always followed our own rules. Which is to say, they know their system is flawed, but they are too stubborn to change idea.”

Aredhel shook her head. The longer she lived, the more ridiculous certain old values became. Marriages between two men or two women, regardless of the state of their bodies, were these days fairly common. She had never met anyone born in the Third Age who found that they should not be allowed.

It was unfortunate how some older folks could not accept it.

In truth, she didn’t think Valinor had been so firm in rejecting them when Aredhel had left it. She remembered that in the last days of the Trees people had already started questioning those ideas, bringing up faults in logic like the one Findekáno had mentioned. People’s minds had started to become more open, they realized they had made mistakes in reasoning. It wasn’t that everyone was accepting of those couples, but it was far from a universal belief.

But then, half the Noldor had left Valinor, and those who had stayed had grown rigid. They had clung to old traditions and ways of thinking. Aredhel could not say she didn’t understand why they had done so. They had probably thought that by putting emphasis on old ways they could have prevented more accidents like that to happen, they could have shown the Valar and the rest of Valinor that not all Noldor were rebels and kinslayers.

And then some people had ended up wrapping themselves around those ideals like vines around an abandoned building. They had not taken well to the changes the Exilic Noldor had brought back with them from Beleriand, to the Sindar customs and occasional Secondborn influence.

It was quite sad, in Aredhel’s mind. Her people had always been known for endless innovation. In her opinion, Noldor who so firmly refused to change were the ones who had truly forgotten what their culture was about.

“Who were the wise ones talking about these things?” Arakáno asked.

“The usual crowd. Halwe and Carmetamo and Patarion-”

“Patarion? Should he be making this sort of argument, considering the proposition his great-grandson made me two weeks past?”

“His- You did not tell us of this!” Fingon said.

“Because I was not interested. There is not much to talk about.”

“You should have at least mentioned it!”

Arakáno huffed. “You are a worse gossip than a grandmother at the market.”

“Why were you not interested?” Fingon asked, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Because he is built like a twig and spends his life writing bizarre mathematical theories. That is not someone I can see myself with.”

“And is there anyone you can see yourself with?” Aredhel asked.

Arakáno pulled a face. “Not you too.”

Aredhel grinned.

It was good, to be able to tease Arakáno this way. Arakáno never spoke of his feelings in their youth, and at the time Aredhel had thought him simply uninterested in romance. Only in their second lives she had found out that he had never known how to tell them he had always only looked at men.

In hindsight, Aredhel wished all four of them had talked more when it came to their feelings for others, or lack thereof. It seemed foolish to have been so private about it with her brothers.

No use regretting it. She knew now that Arakáno only cared for men, and that Fingon did not make distinctions of gender, and Turukáno cared for no one at all. And they knew how her desires worked, even if they did not understand them. But that was quite alright. Aredhel did not understand them either.

Understanding was always a welcome thing, but Aredhel found that it wasn’t always necessary. Her brothers respected the way she felt and encouraged her to look for happiness in whatever way she needed. What did it matter, in the end, that they were different from her?

***

Aredhel stood by the edges of the crowd, watching the party unfold. She needed a moment to herself, to catch her breath after all the dancing and talking she had been doing. She really was getting old. Once she would have partied the day and night away without growing tired of it.

Give her a century or two, and she’d start growing a beard.

“My lady?”

Aredhel turned towards the voice. There was a woman standing there, dressed in Telerin fashion. Curly silver hair surrounded a rather comely face. She looked familiar, in some way, although Aredhel wasn’t sure where she had seen her. “Yes?”

“It’s been a while, since we last saw each other,” the woman said, confirming that they did indeed know one another. “Not since you came to Alqualondë for my brother’s birth.”

Aredhel’s mind went back to the last time she had been in Alqualondë for the birth of a child. It had been a couple centuries back now, to meet Olwë’s youngest great-grandson. Making this lady the older sister, although Aredhel could not remember any sisters there…

Oh, but she did remember a silver haired sibling very similar to this one.

“Forgive me, I hadn’t recognized you,” she said.

The woman laughed. “I won’t hold it against you. I was introduced to you as the child’s brother, I believe.”

“You probably were, my lady…?”

“Ninquiwen.” She smiled. “I haven’t seen you at any official occasion since then.”

“I don’t particularly love official occasions. They tend to be fairly repetitive, in the long run, and I tend to be too honest with my opinions to be invited.”

“I can’t disagree,” Ninquiwen said. “On the repetitive part, at least.”

Ninquiwen was staring at Aredhel with quite some intensity behind her eyes. Not the one usually reserved for an almost stranger, not unless there was some kind of personal interest there.

Aredhel wondered what it was. While the lady was without doubt quite pretty, Aredhel wasn’t sure if she wanted to risk fueling a potential infatuation. It would be unpleasant for all involved parties. She hoped that if Ninquiwen did have interest in her, she also had heard about Aredhel’s icy heart and was wise enough to steer clear of it.

Luckily, Aredhel did not have to think of a reply, because a commotion came from the other side of the room. It seemed two people had gotten caught into a rather heated argument. Someone had stepped between them, as if to make sure they would not end up coming to blows.

“Sometimes unexpected things do happen even in these occasions,” Aredhel said.

“They do.” Ninquiwen frowned. “Oh, for… Please excuse me, my lady.”

“What is the matter?”

“My brother has grown since the last time you saw him, and he has a talent for causing a ruckus wherever he goes.”

With that, she marched towards the argument. Her brother had grown indeed, if he was the one currently being held back by a friend.

As soon as Ninquiwen had gone to wrangle her brother into behaving, someone else appeared by Aredhel’s side.

“It’s refreshing to see someone else’s siblings causing trouble,” Finrod said, sipping from a cup.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No, you usually are the one who needs to be kept in check.”

Aredhel smiled. “Younger sibling privilege.”

“No consideration for your elders,” Finrod said, clicking his tongue. “I didn’t know you knew my cousin.”

“I don’t. She came to talk to me earlier.”

“Is that so.”

Aredhel raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I just thought it does make sense for the two of you to get along.”

“And why is that?”

“Ninquiwen is just like you. Incredibly unromantic, completely disinterested in love, and rolls her eyes whenever she hears the songs I write to my beloveds.”

“I’m surprised your beloveds don’t as well.”

“I would argue, but I know you only see poetry in horses,” Finrod said. “What I mean is that she is as much a block of ice as you are, when it comes to certain things. And I also know she keeps herself quite up to date with all the gossip in Valinor. I doubt she hasn’t heard of how you reject love, or also those scandalous little rumors about what you do with some of your close friends.”

It was Aredhel’s turn now to say, “is that so?”

Because if Ninquiwen was _not_ infatuated with her, there was another possible thing she could be interested in.

Aredhel usually kept her bedroom activities between herself and a close number of people she trusted. Limbësír had been the first, and a couple more had come after him. All people Aredhel knew well, all of which she knew for a fact would only want her body and not her love.

One of them was quite like Aredhel was. They liked women, but only in body, and kept themself far from any matters of the heart. That meant Aredhel was not the only one to not love in the way she did, but she didn’t think people like her were all that common either. At least, most of those who were tended not to talk about it. It was still a way of being that many didn’t accept.

Aredhel didn’t usually proposition strangers. Too many boundaries to set. However, if what Findaráto was saying was to be trusted, it seemed Ninquiwen was more open than Aredhel towards these attempts. The boldness of youth, perhaps.

“I won’t say I know what my cousin is thinking, we aren’t quite that close,” Finrod added. “I am just sharing information.”

“And I will treasure it,” Aredhel replied.

“Needless to say, I doubt Olwë will be pleased if yet another of his descendants ends up involved in some kind of scandal.”

“And are you worried you may be dethroned from your status of most scandalous person in Olwë’s family?”

“I’d like to see anyone try,” Finrod said, with all the cheerfulness of someone who has wholeheartedly embraced being outrageous. Which was what Finrod had been doing ever since coming back to life. Being King gives you a new appreciation for the times when you were free to do whatever you wanted, according to him.

As for Aredhel, she had gone from the deliberate rulebreaking of her youth, to deeply uncaring about what people thought of her. If she happened to cause a little scandal because she had taken one of Olwë’s descendants into her bed, she’d live with it. And in her experience, those who liked gossip, as Ninquiwen seemed to do, also often liked to be the cause of it.

The situation seemed to have calmed down. Ninquiwen was talking in hushed tones with her brother. Aredhel watched her from a distance. She had a little fat on her, giving her body some gentle curves that Aredhel quite liked in a woman.

Perhaps she’d see if it was worth it to deepen their bond.

***

Aredhel’s palm stung.

Tyelkormo’s skin had always been pale and delicate. She could already see the red imprint of her hand blossoming on his cheek. The silence that followed her slap was almost deafening.

Aredhel clenched her fist. “...I’m sorry.”

Tyelkormo shook his head. “Don’t be. It was probably a long time coming.”

Even if the two of them used to be friends in youth, he had always been temperamental and she had always been impulsive and often indelicate. They had had so many arguments in the past about the smallest and most foolish of things. They’d shout at each other from the top of their lungs, Tyelkormo’s voice louder but Aredhel’s more shrill.

They had come to blows, too. More than once Curufinwë had had to step between them before Aredhel ripped all of Tyelkormo’s shiny hair from his head or Tyelkormo bit Aredhel hard enough to draw blood. Stupid arguments between stupid kids who were too young or too spoiled to have learnt how to hold their anger in.

They always made peace afterwards. She couldn’t remember ever truly staying mad at him.

She wondered if it would happen now, too. If the two of them would have a laugh and be friends like nothing ever happened, even if they weren’t kids anymore. Even if Aredhel had grown wiser, even if Tyelkormo had turned himself in a monster of songs. Even if he had avoided her for weeks after Mandos had released him, until Aredhel had marched herself to Nerdanel’s house and demanded to see him.

“Your arm has not lost its strength,” Tyelkormo said, massaging his cheek.

“And your cheekbones are as sharp as ever.”

Tyelkormo leaned his back against the tree. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Made for going on a ride, not arguing. “Am I to expect a slap from every cousin I meet?”

“Have you met many?”

“Just you.”

“If I were you, I would not be looking forward to seeing Finrod. I don’t think he has quite forgiven you for that mess.”

The one mess. The Lúthien mess. Every time Aredhel heard the Lay of Leithian she had wanted to go to Namo and ask to be allowed to knee Tyelkormo in the groin.

She could do that, now. It wasn’t as it Tyelkormo would need that part of himself soon, anyways. Aredhel doubted any maiden in Valinor would want to be particularly close to him, with the reputation he had built himself, let alone get intimate.

“Yes, I imagine he will send me straight back to Námo.”

“You know Finrod would never. But his arm is probably stronger than mine, so start asking Curvo to make you new teeth.”

Aredhel still hadn’t had words with that specific cousin, but she would leave him to be thoroughly chewed out by his wife first.

Tyelkormo let out a mirthless huff of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just thought… Do you remember when we were young, and people talked about us? Suggesting that our friendship may not be quite a _friendship_ in nature?”

Aredhel made a face. “Unfortunately.”

“We were two of the most desired people in Tirion, and now, look at us.” Tyelkormo shook his head. “I acted on my feelings in the worst possible way, and you turned yours to the worst possible recipient. There’s irony in that, don’t you think?”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t know what you felt about Lúthien, but my feelings did not turn to anyone.”

“You are married, Irissë.”

“I’m aware.”

“...I feel I am missing something.”

“For all his flaws, Eöl did have a rather handsome face,” Aredhel said. He probably still had it, given he had been reborn too, but Aredhel had refused to even send him a letter. For his part, he hadn’t sought her. Perhaps his heart had changed, perhaps it was the fact Aredhel’s brothers had paid him a visit when Námo had let him go. “He was handsome all over, truth to be told. One of the few people who become more convincing when they are naked.”

“Irissë!”

“I’m _married_ , Tyelko. And you are old enough to know how those things go, surely.”

“I do,” Tyelkormo replied, and for a moment he sounded like a petulant child. “That doesn’t mean I wish to discuss it with you.”

“Why? It’s a natural thing.”

It was very entertaining to see Tyelkormo’s face go red.

“It was natural when my brothers married too, and I did not want to know any of _their_ details either. There are people whose married life I prefer not to imagine.”

“You know, I truly don’t believe you should be casting any judgement on other people’s married lives. By which traditions did you plan on marrying Lúthien? The Noldor or the Sindar?”

Tyelkormo stayed silent.

Aredhel sighed. “You know, I am the forgiving sort-”

“Since when?”

Aredhel shot him a glare. “Since my son has caused the destruction of an entire city, if you must know. But you don’t have the luxury of my unconditional love, and I’m struggling to find reasons to forgive your behavior.”

Tyelkormo looked down. “I had the feeling you would.”

“Is that why you refused to meet me for so long?”

“Maybe.”

Aredhel scoffed. “I never knew you to be a coward.”

“Coward? Perhaps I just don’t want to deal with-”

“With what? With the consequences of your own actions?” Aredhel snapped. “I am your cousin, and your friend. I should be the least of your worries.”

“And who should be the first?”

Aredhel crossed her arms. “Well, you could start with trying to build a new reputation for yourself. One that won’t make women of all races run from you.”

“Yes, I suppose my chances for marriage are pretty ruined now.”

“That is not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

“Whatever,” Tyelkormo said. “But I will not excessively mourn not having women around me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Tyelkormo took a few moments to begin speaking. “If love for a woman turns me into the person I was when I kidnapped Lúthien, then love is a curse more than a blessing. I’d rather not turn into that version of myself again.”

“On the fact that love is a curse, we can agree,” Lúthien said. “I am probably one of the very few people on these shores who finds love ugly and undesirable, and usually I would find myself supporting those who don’t want it. But don’t make try to place on your feelings the responsibility of your actions.”

Tyelkormo sighed. “When have you grown wise, Irissë?”

“It was bound to happen, sooner or later. The question is, have you?”

“If I said yes, would you believe me?”

“No. I’d ask you to prove it.”

***

“Is something the matter?” Aredhel asked. Sleep was slowly fading from her mind, leaving her with the awareness of gentle fingers caressing her shoulder.

“I am almost sure,” Limbësír said, “that I did not leave these.”

Aredhel turned to him. “The scratches? I thought they would have healed by now.”

“They are barely visible.”

“Well, I told you I spent the past few weeks with my grandmother’s family? I met a rather charming lady there. She was quite enthusiastic.”

Aredhel did not have many friends among the Vanyar, but she might have just found a good reason to visit their lands more often. Dear Rilyalote’s moans had been echoing in Aredhel’s head for days.

Not that Aredhel found her current bed partner lacking. Having had Limbësír as a guest in her bed for a few centuries now meant he had learnt well how to make Aredhel stop thinking. The sheets had fallen off of him, and left an expanse of tawny skin on display. It was always quite the enjoyable sight to see. He was propped up on his elbow, eyes running over Aredhel’s body.

He ran his knuckles along her back. “You are also quite enthusiastic, my lady. I wonder what my back looks like right now.”

“You did not seem to object last night.”

“I had better things to pay attention to.”

“Such as?”

Limbësír moved a little closer to her. “I found myself trapped between the strong thighs of a most gorgeous lady.”

“A trap you did your best to escape, I’m sure.”

“I did use up all my strength, I will tell you this,” Limbësír said. His hand traveled lower, settling on Aredhel’s side.

“Am I to assume you are still completely spent?”

Limbësír left a warm kiss on her shoulder. “I may still have a little energy in me.”

“May?”

“Depends on what the reward for my efforts would be.”

A pleasant warmth was beginning to spread under Aredhel’s skin. Limbësír had not left her unsatisfied the previous night, quite the opposite. Still, she didn’t see any reason not to have some additional fun this morning. He was already busying himself with mapping out Aredhel’s shoulders with his lips.

Aredhel sighed. “I’m sure I can give you something that will make it worth your time.”

Limbësír moved so that his body was covering hers. He brushed her hair to the side, baring more of her skin to his touch.

Aredhel arched her back, rubbing against him. She enjoyed her partners to be impetuous, even rough, but with time she had also learnt to appreciate languid, morning touches, shared when the haze of sleep had not entirely faded. They had a peculiar warmth to them. The arousal they brought was not consuming fire, but rather slowly kindled embers. Less dramatic, but not without its own beauty.

The lips on her back trailed down the curve of her spine. Teeth gently dragged on her ribs. Aredhel’s breath hitched in anticipation of-

There was a loud knock, coming from the front door.

“Can we pretend we didn’t hear?”

Aredhel almost agreed. She frowned, trying to focus her thoughts.

Aredhel cursed, pushing herself up.

“My lady, what’s the matter?” Limbësír asked, rolling off of her.

“I forgot,” Aredhel said, jumping out of bed. She grabbed a sleeping robe thrown over a chair, hastily putting it on. “My father, he said he wanted to visit me today.”

The knocking came again.

“What do I do?” Limbësír asked, sounding now more alarmed.

“Wait a couple minutes.”

Aredhel rushed out of the room. And to think her father had told her he would visit! But Limbësír had shown up on her doorstep the evening before, and with Lómion away Aredhel had only thought about her own pleasure. Foolish, foolish.

She opened the door. Her father stood on the other side.

“Irissë,” he greeted.

“Father, I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

Fingolfin raised an eyebrow. “It’s mid morning.”

“I overslept.”

It was not a lie. She and Limbësír had stayed up well into the night, after all.

She hoped that her father would think that her hair was only in disarray because she had just rolled out of bed. She may be an adult, married woman, but there were some things she didn’t want to discuss with her parents.

“Come in,” she said. “Can you wait while I go get dressed?”

Some days, it was still disarming sometimes to see the way Fingolfin carried himself now. Proudly, but no longer with the severity of the King he had been Ages before. He had left behind his armor and sword and the frown Aredhel remembered being permanently etched on his face. He didn’t look like a monarch hardened by strife anymore. He just looked like Aredhel’s father.

Which was a fundamental problem. Because Aredhel had no shame when it came to the opinions of nobles or intellectuals or prudes. But the embarrassment of her father knowing what she had been up to the previous night… no, that was not something Aredhel was keen on going through.

“Feel free to eat, if you are hungry,” she said, climbing up the stairs to her room.

Limbësír was already half dressed when she got there.

“You’re escaping,” Aredhel said.

“I am surely not having breakfast with your father,” Limbësír replied.

Aredhel went to her window. It looked out on a courtyard, not on the road. Which was lucky for them, because this way no one would see him.

“You should be able to climb out easily from here,” she said.

Limbësír wrestled his tunic on. “Should I?”

“You’re nimble enough.”

Limbësír sighed. “The things I do for our friendship, my lady.”

Aredhel grinned at him. “I’m sure I will find a way to make it up to you.”

“I will hold you to that promise.”

As Limbësír climbed out, Aredhel found herself wanting to laugh. It was such a ridiculous situation. It reminded her of those silly love stories, where someone ran from their lover’s rooms before a disapproving parents could discover a hidden affair.

It wasn’t quite the same situation. Even if Fingolfin discovered Limbësír was there, the most severe consequence would be deep awkwardness, but he would probably not grow angry. Besides, Aredhel was not some not-quite-of-age maiden who had fallen in love with a less than ideal scoundrel. She was no maiden, for starters. She had also reached quite the respectable age by now. And she was most definitely not in love.

Still, she found herself giggling as she watched Limbësír make his way down the wall. It was so silly.

Oh, she felt like a girl all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Btw I used the word "sireanasse" to refer to genderfluid. For reference of it, see [my post here](https://ambarto.tumblr.com/post/642473808404627456/new-post-because-i-accidentally-posted-the).


End file.
